Last week a TV crew came to project why. They spent two days capturing the shots they wanted and driving us literally up the wall. When it was over, the producer handed me a form tat he said needed to be filled. It began like all data sheets with queries about name, dob etc.. but then were a host of questions asking for one’s favourite things.

At age 55+ it seems a little inane to have to answer favourite actor, food, actress, movie colour, dress and God knows what else, so I simply followed the lead of my excited young colleagues. True there was a time when I did have a list of favourite things, but stilettos gave way to floaters as style was sacrifices at the alter of comfort! However one question caught my eye: what is your favourite book?

This one was for me, my true turf, as books had been my friends, solace, companions and mentors right from my early days. At first glance, it seemed an easy question as was I not the ones who lived and breathed books. I still remember how deeply moved I had been by Francois Truffaut’s stunning film Fahrenheit 451 where the possibility of a world without books entered by adolescent mind.

So the question what is your favourite book was one I had to answer myself. easier said than done as I sat pencil in hand trying to recall the innumerable number of books that I had read over the years and finding the one that could truly deserve the attribute of favourite!

My mind rapidly scanned the books I had always professed liking, but each somehow fell short of something. They seemed more to have been in tune with a particular moment of my existence but paled beyond that reality. What I sought was the book that had withstood the vagaries of a lifetime; the one that gave the same intense pleasure each time one opened it; the one that always had the ability to answer the query of the moment no matter what it could be; the one that could soothe frayed nerves and make you believe that life was worth living even in your darkest hour; the one that had never left your bookshelf!

My mind travelled back and forth as many titles came to mind, but only one could answer all the aforesaid questions as well as those not yet formulated as yes there was such a book in my life: The Little Prince by Antoine de St Exupery, a book that had entered my life when I was twelve and that still sits comfortably on my bookshelf.

To many and by the looks of it, The little Prince is a children’s book, and I must confess that when I first read it, it did not quite compete with the adventure books that were hot favourites of mine. But I found myself attracted to it in an almost intuitive way and as years passed I often picked up and read bits of it at times when I was confused, sad or lonely.

The Little Prince is a mesmerising book as it seems to address to each one of us and any given time in our lives. It is a quaint philosophical fable written way back in the 1940’s but one that retains its freshness as we meet its diverse protagonists: the businessman counting useless stars, or tippler who drinks because he is ashamed of his drinking.

And as you get lost in this world you realise the futility of many things your held as important and the importance of those you overlooked. You are gently taught of the danger of losing your ability to question what you cannot comprehend or what you find absurd. And gently you are led to the one secret that holds true in life and extols you to learn to look with you heart.

In hindsight I now see how deeply this tiny book has helped me and guided me in life and deserves to be my favourite book!

You’ re simply the best we sang with as much energy as Tina Turner as the 12 girls of our class XII batch cleared their Boards with panache. Yes this year the project why class XII was an all girls batch. A matter of pride for us but also a true reflection of an existing social reality. parents spend more on boys and hence most are given private tuition. The girls are just sent to project why!

Today we can see the next line of the song – better than all the rest – as the X Boards results are out and once again our 11 boys and 11 girls have passed too!

I have now words to express what I feel though this day as dawned 7 times for us. Yet each time I feel as overwhelmed and somehow a tad sad as there are many children who have the ability but lack the tiny little bit of help they need.

I just wish we could do more…

Once again our kids have done us proud. All 12 project why students have cleared their class XII Boards and some with distinction. What makes this bunch different to all others is that many come from poor homes and have studied against many odds. Some were even considered failures when they first came to us and in some cases we had to convince parents to allow the kids to continue their studies.

But today all is forgotten, and a palpable feeling of joy filled the classroom as the results were declared. The credit goes to Naresh our senior secondary teacher whose dedication and unwavering faith in his students motivated them to give their very best.

It is time to celebrate

I normally am rarely at home during the course of the day and thus am not aware of he comings and goings that dot a normal working day seen from the inside of a home. Yesterday I remained indoors on doctor’s advise and spent most the time in my tiny office which is next to the main entrance of the house and thus closest to the gate.

My hope of getting some serious work done was soon shattered by the door bell that rang at disturbing intervals. Bar the ironing man and the gardener all other interruptions came from a new persona: the courier man.

Soon a little pile of envelopes of all shades and hue littered my usually pristine desk. There were a few bills, a few invitations but the majority of the pile was made of diverse promos and publicity material. Though we are only three in the house, my husband is a member of two prestigious clubs and thus on several mailing lists. From sarees to silverware, from furniture to food, from electronic goods to art exhibitions everyone seemed to consider us a valued customer. And each envelope was glossier than the other and in sizes that would never fit the slit of a mailbox. And if that was not enough, most of the envelopes were packed in high quality transparent plastic lest they get soiled!

Like in most homes, the carefully wrapped messages would soon find their way in the waste, and in city like ours where waste segregation is still an unheard concept, the carefully worded suggestions to valued people who simply add to the burden of a collapsing planet.

Everyone is talking of global warming and the need to act. And one of the simple ways of doing so is my protecting trees and saving paper. Is not time for us as concerned citizens to raise our voices against this flood of publicity that now targets our very homes? I know that many will talk about the numerous jobs that this industry gives and supports. But is it not time to alter perceptions and reinvent things in a more environment friendly way?

In the times of the Internet and the electronic media, there have to be ways of halting the proliferation of publicity material that is suffocating the planet. And if one insists on printed material then one should use only recycled paper. I have often written about my concern on the proliferation of pouches that have hit urban slums and litter the roads and clog drains. Companies who market these are rich enough to invest into developing environment friendly packaging were it made mandatory. But in the game of money making who will bell the cat. And the cat is often within our home and goes by the name of comfort and convenience. It is so much easier to get a plastic bag from the shopkeeper than to carry a cloth one; it is easier to sump all garbage in a plastic bag than to segregate it.

Added to comfort and convenience is another culprit that goes by the name of convention. When we began our work almost 10 years ago and looked around we found that all organisations had beautiful brochures and pamphlets. In our earlier days we did the same but thankfully because of paucity of funds and the ever changing nature of our work we had to put a stop and look for alternatives. Those were the early days of the net and we jumped the bandwagon and created our website that we managed in-house. The rest is history and today even the printer has stopped making his customary sale calls. And today when people ask us for litterature about the project we refer them to the site and the blog and if needed print out one set of the required information.

Be it plastic, paper or water laws alone can never suffice. One has to change mindsets and alter our ways of thinking and be prepared to be called marginal or wacko. When my daughter got married we did not print wedding cards. Barring one person everyone did turn up.

It is time each one of us starts giving up old ways and find new ones. It is not an easy task but it is the only one that will help our children have a future.

Bye bye hot samosas was the the blog I had written some time back when one first heard of the probable banning of all street food in our city. Yesterday the Supreme Court decreed and imposed a ban on all street food.

We often fail to see things unless we have a real reason to. For as long as I remember I have driven past roads in Delhi not quite looking at street food. Lately I have found myself actually doing so and have been amazed by the abundance of what is soon going to disappear: From small road stalls to carts, from samosas to meals via fruits and zingy snacks, the street food culture permeates the very soul of this city! And true to its globalisation efforts we now have Chinese food and burger stalls too! Frankly I cannot begin to imagine the streets without these. It is true that if we look closely at some of these stalls we are compelled to frown at the hygiene standards or the safety norms; however life without them seems a tad sad.

That was nostalgia but the problem does not end there. In my pre project why days street food was that forbidden treat we sought once in a while, but many of us do not realise that for millions in the city it is a lifeline!

At 5 or 10 rupees a plate it is a hot meal for those who do not have families or time to get up and cook. To others it is the sole way of having some fruits or a sweet treat. And to thousands of families it is the much needed income that brings a meal at the end of the day.

It was heartwarming to see that a leading TV channel had launched a campaign to save Delhi’s street food on the lines of earlier campaigns to get justice. And the pictures that were aired were those of humble people who candidly defended their right to a meal.

That Delhi is bursting at its seams because of the daily influx of migrants is a reality that no one can overlook, but can one deny the fact that this has happened with the tacit approval of those in power. Swelling vote banks, new causes to defend were all part of a hubristic game and no one saw the writing on the wall.

As numbers grew so did the support network: food stalls, street barbers, cobblers, cycle repair shops et al. And greed broke all bounds: the greed of the politicians who wanted more voters, the greed of the administration who saw more sources of dubious income, the greed of the people who found new shortcuts to earning. Till the day when someone saw red and petitioned the courts.

I cannot but begin to imagine how the new law will be brought into force keeping in mind the host of people that it will affect: livelihood of some, sustenance of the other and above all extra income of yet another. The scenario is quite frightening as no real option seems to have been put in place. The ban on street food will swell the ranks of the unemployed and increase lawlessness. Or will it be a cat and mouse game that will benefit the greedy law enforcers as the fact that street food is available in the remotest recesses of the city makes it easy to move into a grey mode.

All this is yet to be seen, the large issue remains that once again it is the poor that is hit. We will still find ways to fulfill our nostalgic urges as in all likelihood, traditional street food will find new moorings. What will disappear is the hot lunch option that sustains a multitude of people who toil hard in this city and make it a better place for us.

Children sometimes say the most astonishing things. Many times it takes you a while to decipher the words as they often assume that you know what they are thinking and deliver the rest in what can best the best riddle..

Kiran and I were riding in the three wheeler when she suddenly said: Pamika -read shamika my daughter – pablic main thi naa.. which can be translated as: Shamika was in public, wasn’t she? Then as she saw my bemused face she added: School, kaun se school main thi.. which school was she in?
I mumbled : French school and pat came the next sentence: who pablic hai na.

That is when the penny dropped and I could say Eureka!

What little Kiran mean was asking was whether Shamika studied in a public school as compared to a government school. To her there were just two kinds of schools: the public ones like the one she went to, and the to municipal or government ones.

Her parents and her favourite aunt had gone to the later. But the whole family decided to make a huge effort and get her admitted in a public school to give her the best start possible. Her admission has its own share of drama that she witnessed as nothing can be hidden in the tiny homes. Kiran processed the information in her own way and then came up with her perplexing query as she reviewed every one she knew.

The above incident can lead to many debates but what stays in my mind is the vulnerability of a child ‘s mind as it handles information it receives. What one must not forget is that such maters remained ingrained for a long time.

Sunday 13 May was an special day at project why. A Right to Information meeting was held at our Okhla centre. Santosh and Priyanka tow RTI activists from Parivartan and Kabir, came all the wau from east Delhi to explain how this Act could make a diference in the lives of humble Indian citizens. The meet had been organised by Amit and our community awareness team.

It was a hot sultry day and at first attendance was scarce as many believed that the meeting was dubious reasons ranging. A little prompting from Pushpa and Manju our Okhla centre teachers and numerous trips by kids to their home did the trick and soon some parents and bystanders arrived. As the meeting began more people joined in. Santosh and Priyanka introduced the RTI in simple terms replete with case studies and slowly the motley crowded got interested and started sharing their stories. The main theme was ration cards and ration availability, something that seemed to touch everyone. A palpable excitement pervaded the atmosphere as simple people slowly realised that they too had a voice, and one that could be heard.

Slowly people started to raise their own issues ranging from admission in schools to the precarious nature of their habitat and our RTI activists showed them how even such issues could be addressed through RTI.

The seed had been sown. And though there were a few discordant notes namely voiced by some drunken men, the general mood was one of optimism and hope. But we cannot rest o our laurels, this is just the embryonic beginning of what can be an incredible journey. We will help file some applications this week itself as the proof of the pudding is in the eating. Simple souls have short memories and the wretchedness of their lives may soon obliterate this fleeting moment of hope.

It is our duty to do so.

There is a new blog about the comings and goings of project why. Khabar why ki was launched some time back hesitantly by our incomparable duo Shamika and Rani. After a slow beginning it as now taken off in style.

Khabar why ki is a blog in roman Hindi and shares in a candid way the daily events that occur at project why. It offers a different view as it comes almost from the horse’s mouth. I hope many of you will drop and encourage this new enterprise.

This morning a neighbour of Mehajabi came by. Actually he was the man who had first brought her to us. He had come to collect the precious receipts that would ensure that the child was operated. After collecting the two pieces of paper and listening to the instructions, he lingered on for a while, hesitant to say what he wanted to.

I asked him what the mater was and he said shoved some medical papers in my hand and mumbled some inaudible words. This is his story..

Two years ago he lived in a village in Bihar where he eked a living as a daily wage labourer. He has a tiny plot of land and a little house. Life would have carried on were it not for his wife’s sudden loss of hearing. Local medical facilities being non-existent, he decided to come to Delhi in the hope of getting his wife cured. In Delhi he rented a tiny hovel and started his life as a daily wage labourer in earnest. He also set out get his wife treated but soon discovered that each day spent at the government hospital was one without work and the treatment was taking forever as he was sent from pillar to post.

After some time the comings and goings got the better of the little family as there were four children that needed to be carted each time and the loss of income was too much to bear. The wife too took on a job and life went on. But the ear ailment worsened. The wife’s employer decided to ‘help’ and sent the wife to a local specialist. She paid part of the treatment but then left for another city. The wife was ‘operated’ upon and given a huge prescription of expensive medicines. Part of the doctor’s bill still needed to be paid and the man borrowed and paid the same. But no money was left for the medication and the wife never went back to the doctor.

This was two weeks ago, and the man was at his wit’s end as infection had set in, the landlord not been paid and the family in danger of being homeless. He had come to ask for help.

A quick glance at the medical papers he carried showed that they did not even state what kind of surgery had been performed. We took him to our local doctor who referred him to a ENT specialist and we will try and ensure that she gets treated.

There must be many like this family who come to the city and get caught in an infernal spiral. They leave their roots and home to seek better medical help but soon find themselves worse they were in a inhospitable big city that is ready to devour them. As they try to survive, they sink deeper into debt. Some turn to alcohol, others gamble, and still others take their frustration out on their helpless families.

Welcome to the world of medical tourism of another kind.

Was it only a year ago that I wrote about my worst fears in a post I entitled plastic fantastic lover. I have been watching in helpless horror the gleaming bikes and big cars that landed in the darkest lanes of the slums around us, courtesy a pyramid sales company promising an El Dorado t any one who joined them. I have watched with extreme sadness young people falling prey one after the other to this hoax, many leaving their studies midway, many our very own students. I have screamed myself hoarse trying to guard them from the pitfalls I could see. I have prayed hard for them to fall before it is too late. But the enemy was too formidable and the lollies to attractive.

Day after day more bikes, more cars, more white shirts and blank pants, more frenzy, more euphoria. The voices of reason were silenced and many even gloated at all that had been achieved.

I just sat silent wondering when the pyramid would crash, I sat silent asking myself how did one pick the pieces of broken dreams and shattered hope, how did one clean up after the storm has passed. My worst case scenario was huge debts leading to despair. And though the idea had seeded in my mind, nothing could prepare me for the news I heard this morning: one of the young kids had taken is own life this morning as he could not face the creditors knocking at his door and had no one to turn to for help. He was twenty one.

And as the story unfolded, all apprehensions and fears stood validated. Many young boys and girls were faced with huge debts. The dreams of early days now lay jaded. The careless freedom had taken its toll as many girls lost their way in a world they could not master. Some of the ring leaders were faced with lawsuits and had gone in hiding. Reality had caught up with these misguided children who had no one to turn to.

My mind went back to the innumerable posts I had written about my fears. My mind went back to some hate mails I got where young people lauded the work of MLM. I kept some of them and paste one here as it was sent to me without editing :

myself ebizzer amit
ebiz.com (p) ltd
The power of right decision
ebiz become the best network marketing company of the world by touching millions of people around the world by essential komputer eduction, quality produts and service at vrey reasonble and offardable costs, to help them achieve financial freedom.

I have nothing to say as these words spek for themselves. I just hope and pray that no other life will have to be lost.

I had heard the story of the the one-eyed child who lived in a small village and was the butt of cruel jokes and a sad laughing stock. His mother climbed a rocky hill on her knees to reach a shrine where it was said miracles happened. Sometime later her child lost his other eye and turned blind. At first she was unable to understand what had happened till slowly she realised that people had stopped making fun of her child and were often seen helping him and being kind to him.

This story has many explanations and many lessons to be learnt. But it came to my mind as I battled a real life situation today. We have been trying to find alternatives for Babli and Jeetu. Whereas many know Babli’s story, Jeetu belongs to times before one actually became a blogger. He lost his Mom when he was still a tiny baby. Now almost 8 he is tended for by a father who barley eeks a living. The father, like so many others, drinks and becomes abusive and violent. Last week he was seen threatening his son with a tyre that he was about to hurl on him when one of our staff members intervened.

Babli and Jeetu have parents but just in name as in either case these parents have scant time for their progeny. We were hoping to send them to karammarg but were told that a recent decision of their Board was to only take orphans.

Babli and Jeetu are not exceptions. There are many like them who though having parents live a life of abject neglect. They are left to their own devices. Jeetu does not even go to school in spite of all our efforts. Babli is a surrogate mother to her family. Her father even makes take care of the tobacco and cigarette cart he has while he is busy gambling. One year after her heart surgery she has not grown an inch or put on a pound. Having parents who do not care is worse than being orphaned as orphans are quite often taken care of by relatives and treated with kindness.

Jeetu and Babli are muck like the one eyed child, their lives worse than that of the child with no parents. Their homes situation is so hopeless that it becomes impossible to help them in situ. Their only hope is that their family – or what goes by that name – accepts to give them a better chance.

Sometimes decisions are taken in a hurry, one can only hope that they are not irreversible. It is the plight of children like them that made us seed planet why. If not for all the children at least for those who drop by our way.

The municipal elections are over.. They were less noisy and almost poster free but candidates did make their presence felt in novel ways: loads of street ambulations that looked like marriage parties where the well garlanded candidates paraded as grooms (never mind the gray hair and pot bellies) led by a rowdy group of hired supporters and drum beats. Their eager henchmen preceded them rapidly shoving garlands in the hands of by standers asking them to do the needful as the hero of the moment crosses their way.

What was different this time was the staggering number of independent candidates with amusing election symbols: over and above the well known hand, lotus ad elephant we had an aeroplane, a cup-saucer, a candle, a house, an locomotive, a banana, a mango, a book, a broom and more. Notwithstanding the use of EVMs, the supporters shouted: put your stamp on ..

The multiplicity of candidates and the well known time laxity in our land made many parties come face to face in the tiny lanes and often lead to arguments and fist fights, in one case even gunfire!

I was happy to see that even simple people found this aggressive and bombastic electioneering an insult to their intelligence. They just played on.. knowing that they would cast their vote for who they wanted. They were the ones who were quick to tell me the not so glorious antecedents which seems to be a common factor for everyone of them.

On election day however many hopes were shattered as for those who did not have voter’s ID cards the options allowed by the Election commission once again divided India: PAN cards, driving licences or passports were ID’s that would allow you to vote, whereas ration cards were disallowed. So those living in slums and whose name appeared on the electoral rolls could not vote as they did not have the required ID proof as they often do not drive cars, pay taxes or travel outside India!

Election day saw money exchanging hands and the presence of liquor was evident in the sway of many people as the day passed..

A friend called saying that she questioned the validity of electoral promises which seem to state the obvious as were not municipalities meant to provide citizens with water, electricity and a clean environment?

There was a small feeling of satisfaction as the “none of the above” option was included. I remembered the fight it had been to excercise the “refuse to vote” option some years back.

We indeed had come a long way.

At my advanced age one does not celebrate birthdays or expect gifts. Yet this year I decided to mark my double five by unabashedly asking for a present from my crew even using the power of being captain of the ship!

I must confess that it is part of a game plan I have had for long. When the project why journey began, I had a dream: that of seeing each member of team project why one day at the helm of their individual programmes. however each time i suggested this, i was met with a salvo of: how can we? we are not capable? etc. It was to be expected as just like the children, they too suffered from a brand of poor self esteem that was almost debilitating and made them incapable all they had achieved in the past years.

So last Saturday I reminded them that it was my birthday in a few days and that I wanted a gift from each one of them. I was amused as I took time in stating the nature of the gift and watched their eager and perplexed faces. I think no one expected what came next: for my birthday I want each one of you to write a paragraph about what you have achieved in the last 5 years that I can be proud of. i want each one of you to tell me why you should be admired..

Stunned silence followed my words and before the usual No’s would land on my ears, I added that there was no discussion and added the right dose of emotional blackmail as i said that I would be hurt if someone did not do what i said as this was the first time I had actually asked for something.

I wait with bated breath for what will land on my lap on Wednesday and will share it with everyone. For me it is a way of proving to this incredible lot that they are capable of taking my dream forward!

I have always been a morning person and a light sleeper. Yet for years I never woke up before 4 or 4.30 am. If I let my memory travel back I realise that often it is was the cling clang of the Delhi Milk Scheme vans that used to wake me up. Sometimes a crow or a bird preceded it by a few minutes.

Lately I have found myself waking up as early as 2 am jolted from my sleep by the sound of a speeding vehicle. We live close to a flyover and in the dead of night every sound does get amplified. True that in yore years too sometimes their were cars whizzing past, maybe on their way to the airport, or Saturday party goers getting back home but it was an occasional sound that did not get passed the deep sleep one was in. It is the everyday sounds that reach that part of your brain like the milk van or the faithful crow.

Irked by this new phenomena that was now translating itself into dark circles under the eyes and an irritable Maam’ji, I decided to try and decipher the source of this new late night occurrence. It did dawn one such night: these were the BPO or call centre staff vehicles crisscrossing our city to meet their unearthly schedules.

A lot has been said about the effects of these new working hours that need to meet different time zones and turn night into day. many young people are paying the price and as is often the case, the once lucrative and upmarket job options is now being shunned by some and is slowly reaching the lower strata of society. Today many of our ex students work in call centres as the job profile is scaled down to meet the ever exceeding demand.

Doc P, our family doctor recounted how on a trip to the US he needed to change a booking and dialled a number answered by a young lad who was desperately trying to communicate in his newly acquired American Hinglish; no matter how many times Doc tried to coax him into speaking in Hindi, the lad held on: needless to say the booking was never changed.

While travelling to pwhy everyday one sees new hoardings for BPO training institutes that guarantee perfect English in 6 weeks or so. I guess they must be lucrative as new ones appear ever so often.

I guess I wil need to invest in a good pair of earplugs!

A mail dropped by recently in my mailbox. It opened with the words: I have been visiting Project Why for quite some time now and its quite interesting to know the way you take up issues. In fact I have been observing certain things out here in Mumbai but since I don’t have a blog that would bring up such issues I am writing it to you.

I gave myself a silent pat on my back before reading on, as somehow the 400 odd blogs that sit on this site were written in the hope that they would make a difference. Like many other things it was just that a hope against hope till Rachana’s mail came by. Suddenly what was till then a nebulous though took on a different hue and with it came the realisation of the responsibility that came with it.

This is what she wrote:

My office is located at Lower Parel in Mumbai, a corporate hub where you can find all sorts of offices. The primary concern I feel at this place that slowly and gradually people are occupying the footpaths as a living place. All shabby stuff is thrown here and there and they are doing all possible workouts from cooking to bathing. It becomes difficult especially for women out here to move on the footpath. More over the traffic on the roads is so heavy that it is very unsafe to walk on the road. Initially it was just two -three people who started living out there but now i can find almost 30-40 people in the area just opposite to the Lower Parel station and opp to Kamla mills ( where CNBC is located).

An anonymous comment on a previous post– reality notes 2 – with you, for you, always – came as a bit of a jolt. It said: here is a bit of advice. Instead of running around like a plucked chicken trying to prove your point (and who knows what that is!), why don’t you hire your own security. Get some unemployed thugs to provide security for you. They are cheap and you won’t have these hassles in the future.

It was indeed a wake up call in more ways than one. I wish the person had not chosen to remain anonymous. It would have helped me assess whether the comment was laced with sarcasm or a genuine piece of advise. Notwithstanding both are equally disturbing.

I may seem at times to be running around like a plucked chicken. I guess most of us who try to beat the system in existence land up looking like that. Barring the initial years when we at pwhy were trying to find our feet and posed no threat to anyone, we have faced innumerable obstacles that took various avatars but had a single purpose: to get us to pack our bags and leave.

For us each obstacle came as a challenge and a vindication of our approach. If a tiny organisation like ours could disturb existing patterns than it meant that we were on the right track. To many we may just have looked like any education imparting organisation that dot our land, but it is actually a saga of whys, whats and hows bringing us slowly to one moot point: empowerment of the community. And to achieve this with a modicum we had to walk the long road, abide by existing rules and set an example that all could emulate.

So the point one has been trying to prove is that no matter what the odds, there exists a system albeit one that many prefer circumventing that works if one tries. One could have made one phone call and got the police station to accept the complaint, but that was not a solution available to all; however going to the higher authority is one that is there for all provided you are aware of it.

It would be naive of me to think that this is the last hurdle in my race. Many more will come and will have to be faced but each one will be a step in the right direction as it will show the way and may help others.

So there is a method in what seems my madness; but one your life beats at the rhythm of many others then all planning, no matter how well conceived, goes haywire and you just take things one step at a time, one day at a time.

Last but not the lest I need to react to what is suggested in the aforesaid comment: getting protection by hiring thugs. I would have preferred to dismiss this without a word but cannot. First and foremost no one is a thug by birth. We are collectively responsible for them becoming that. Then stooping down to the level of people one holds in contempt is not an acceptable solution. And last of all the solution proffered is again an individual one, what we seek at pwhy is solutions for each and every Indian.

As I had written in my previous post, I set out this morning with a well drafter complaint (courtesy my lawyer)to seek protection from those who are meant to give it to every citizen namely the Delhi Police whose motto we all know is with you, for you , always!

As a honest activist and proud Indian I decided to follow the procedure to the T and set out to the police post in Govindpuri. I had thought that lodging a complaint would be simple as it only required to be handed over.

The police station was abuzz with activity with men in uniform haring here and there. The antique walkies talkies were spouting incomprehensible words drowned in static. To my bewilderment no one seemed to care that we were there, let alone attend to us. One gathered that some high politician was visiting the area and hence everyone was required to be at the spot.

After some time someone deigned looking at our paper that was in English and legal jargon, and then passed it on to another. After some time we were told that they would not accept it as there were thousands of such complaints! In short they refused to take our simple complaint.

So after some cogitation and consultation with our lawyers we set out to the next authority namely the ACP Kalkaji after adding another letter stating how we had been refused our basic civic right. Our complaint was accepted by that office.

In hindsight it seemed the someone had called the police post to ensure that our complaint was not filed. This someone was part of the pack of wolves, probably the one who ensured good relationship with the local cops, the seedy nexus slowly revealed was beyond one’s imagination and yet so real to the India we live in.

So maybe I stand corrected as I have many times felt that education and a good command of English does open doors, Well it does, but not at the lower levels of the system where predators rule with impunity.

Now we sit and wait for the next assault armed with a copy of our complaint duly stamped in acknowledgement. with you for you always remain words with no meaning unless you are part of the nexus.

I have often written about the hungry wolves that lurk in every corner trying to destroy any attempt that dares disturb the social balance they have set in place, no matter how lopsided it may be.

What is even more disturbing is that they succeed in a manner of speaking. Like all cowards they hit below the belt hoping to wear you down by their threats and abusive ways.

These predators often come in the garb of small trade unions or petty politicians who unfortunately are perceived to be powerful by the simple minds they control. A series of unfortunate consequences led one person to be convinced to file a frivolous case under the Shop and Establishments Act against our organisation. the bait was an enormous about of money dangled in front of a poor and gullible person.

The matter has been in the labour office for a while. As it seemed to sway in our favour, the pack resorted to vile tactics and yesterday threatened to send goondas to handle the issue and extort the money come what may. The threats were targeted at me in person and indirectly at the rest of the organisation.

I will be filing a complaint in the police station ad will carry on my work. However many questions come to mind. The bravado of an old woman is acceptable but can ask vulnerable people to do the same or can one put at risk children simply to make a point.

On the other hand any perception of fear would be a feather in the cap of our detractors. Does one pack up and go and thus write off the morrows of many innocent lives, or does one carry hoping for the best.

What is frightening in such matters is the attitude of the administration who fuels such frivolous cases and allows them to be filed for their own devious reasons. What is disquieting is the relentless way in which predators target even tiny organisations like ours whose sole purpose is to empower people.

What will happen this morning is yet to be seen, maybe nothing but that does not deflect from the reality of this new why that needs to be addressed.

In my quest to get pwhy kids and heir families the required caste and OBC certificates I set about finding out the procedure set out by our government. A quick perusal of the Delhi government website is sufficient to show that the modus operandi proposed is almost impossible to meet.

For Scs and Sts whereas the application can be signed by the local elected representative, someone that can be acceded to, the remaining papers require the signature of two class I gazetted officer, something that even i would have difficulty in finding.

In case of OBCs a new para has been added which states: I certify that to the best of my knowledge and belief that i do not belong to the creamy layer of the OBC… (para 14 of application form), However no definition has been given of the creamy layer!

It does not end here. To get a handicapped certificate you need to be 40% physically handicapped and 35% mentally challenged. Wonder what happens to those who are under! And in a city where the minimum wage for unskilled labour is about 3000 rs a month, the website states : He or she should be domiciled in Delhi for more than 5 years and their monthly income should not exceeds. 400/- and if unemployed their family income should not exceed Rs.600/

I think one would be justified to say that their seems to be a concerted effort to ensure that good schemes do not reach the true beneficiary. One would be justified in thinking that if we as civil society armed with a powerful tool like the Right to Information, set out to redress torts and ensure that existing schemes functioned this country would be a better place for all!

Today’s TV news brought pictures of 390 little bones buried near a hospital in Ratlam. Experts say they are the remains of babies. Today’s newspaper reported that there were thousands of missing children in our own Silicon valley a.k.a Bengaluru!

Post Nithari, the NHRC has asked for an update of missing children in UP. A website has been launched to keep track of missing children. Many questions come to mind and find no answers. The entire administrative setup seems to have forsaken the children of India in every way imaginable.

There are another little forsaken group of missing children, those that came for unknown reasons to seek shelter at the Baba Balnath Ashram since its inception in 1975. The present lot were rescued in early December 2006 though they too seem lost in complex administrative and judicial mazes. But what about all the others that transited this hell hole for 30 long years. Some should be almost middle aged women.

Will anyone give them a voice. What will it take to get civil society to ask these disturbing questions and seek answers so that they may get the justice they deserve? We have seen many a campaign in recent months that have brought closure to several cases. However these girls are invisible, yet they too are victims of the society we live in.

It is time to wake up and redeem ourselves if redemption there is!